Random Hearts
by karisma1again
Summary: A story centered around Lexie/Mark.


_**AN: Hello! Off the heels of Seattle Night, I'm trying my hand at another story, this one centering around Lexie/Mark as well. Suddenly ambitious, I'm also working out yet another story, but we'll see if that actually goes anywhere….**_

_**Anyway, the reader should assume that while the interns underwent their secret surgery and got caught, Mark and Lexie never slept together.**_

Random Hearts

Chapter One: Trust

A happy drunk was annoying, but a mean drunk was dangerous. Lexie honestly didn't know which one she was hoping for as she stamped her boots at the bar's entrance. She tugged at the tips of her gloves before peeling them off and shoving them in her pocket.

It wasn't hard to find him; her eyes were trained to look for a slumped back with no visible head. The third stool from the left supported a man whose entire upper body depended on the bar in front of him.

She sighed. There was a dull ache between her shoulder blades that reminded her she was on the tailend of a thirty-six hour shift. Flexing them, she approached the bar. "Hi, Sam."

The man drying glasses with a soggy towel smiled at her. "Hey, Lexie. Sorry to call you at work, but we're closing."

"No, no." She shook her head. "Thanks for not kicking him out sooner." Sam's bar had a strict code: If you couldn't stand, you couldn't stay. He also tried to not overserve, but Lexie knew better than anyone that her father was able to play sober right up until it was blatantly obvious he wasn't.

Sam looked apologetic. "I swear I only gave him three shots."

Lexie pulled back her father's shoulders and tried to get his head to stop lolling around. "Dad." To Sam, she said, "It's not your fault. He was probably halfway to the worm before he even got here."

Thatcher opened his eyes to focus on her face. Or near it. "Molly?" He gave her a bleary smile. Happy drunk it was then.

Lexie sighed. "No, Dad." She managed to loop one of his arms over her neck.

"Meredith?"

That one hurt. So much so that she faltered and lost her momentum in heaving him to his feet. As a result, her grip slid and he fell back on his seat, half over the bar counter.

Sam watched, his eyebrows knitting over kind eyes. "Can I get you anything?"

Water. She should ask for water. Or coffee. Caffeine would be smart since she'd probably have to go back to work…to stand around and not get in the way of actual, useful people who hadn't nearly killed their co-workers.

She ordered a shot of tequila. The choice of poison had little to do with preference and a lot to do with the unexpected remembrance of her estranged sibling.

She tossed it back with surprising ease, but she was unable to hide her grimace as she turned the glass upside down on the bar.

"On the house," Sam said, shaking his head when she reached for her bag.

"Thanks." Though, she realized with a burst of cynicism, he could afford to be kind since her father practically paid Sam's rent with his monthly tab.

Attempting it again, she managed to get Thatcher up. With the majority of his weight against her, they formed a rhythm reminiscent of a three-legged race as they moved. They had made it only halfway to the door before Thatcher jerked up and out her arms.

"Lexie!" he shouted, triumph evident in his voice as it rang through the bar.

"Yes, Dad," she muttered, keeping her eyes down and focused on their feet. Perhaps the appropriate reaction was mortification, but she'd moved past that last month when he'd thrown up on her in the bar across the street.

Then his foot caught on the rung of a nearby chair and he toppled over, nearly taking her with him. In the end, she remained standing, staring down at the heap near her feet.

If there were eyes on her, she knew how to avoid them. Head down, eyes focused on either the door or her father. Coming down to her haunches, she grasped his arm and waist and pulled up. She staggered under the initial burden, but was just managing to steady both of them when her father's weight disappeared.

First she thought he had fallen again. But then, when she saw him standing, she looked past Thatcher's slumped body to the taller one next to him.

"Dr. Grey."

She swallowed. "Dr. Sloan."

And then she stared. Far worse, she knew she was staring and could do nothing about it. She had been wrong; she was not beyond mortification. What was a little vomit compared to her career swirling down the drain? For all the bars her father frequented, she should have been grateful his default watering hole wasn't Joe's. Her father avoiding Joe's meant she got to avoid the doctors and nurses and orderlies of Seattle Grace.

A blessing she could kiss goodbye now. Strange, but she wanted to accuse Dr. Sloan, ask him what he was doing there instead of hanging out at Joe's like every other SGH employee.

His graying head inclined toward the door. "Your car?"

She floated her hands around her father's body as if to help, which was ridiculous since he could obviously handle Thatcher's weight better than she could. Then she nodded and walked toward the door and held it open for them.

"Thank you," she said as he passed her, his elbow brushing her shoulder as his hand gripped her father's wrist.

"Thank you," she said again when her father was tucked in the passenger seat of her car, his head resting against the rain-splattered window. When he turned to face her, his hands buried in the pockets of his jacket, she had a hard time meeting his gaze.

"Don't—don't tell anyone, all right?" Then, as if realizing who he was—and consequently, who _she_ was, she added, "Please?"

He was silent for a long moment and, out of options and other things to look at, she finally lifted her eyes to his face. In the dark his features were hard to make out, but she had the feeling that even if it were daylight, she'd still be unable to read his expression.

"I generally make it a rule not to believe or spread gossip."

The reproach in his voice made it seem as if she did both and, for some inexplicable reason, she felt ashamed of herself.

"Right. Of course." She nodded. "Thank you." She'd already said that. Damn.

Their situation was so awkward, she almost gave into the impulse to shuffle her feet. Instead, she jerked a thumb over her shoulder and said, "I should get my dad home."

"It'll be all right," he said, his eyes never leaving hers.

She gave a laugh. The intent had been to make it light and breezy, but it came out a cross between a cough and a wheeze. "Yeah, he just needs to sleep it off."

She walked to the other side of the car. Over the bonnet, she met his gaze. A streetlamp threw light across his head and the blue of his eyes glinted.

All the way to her father's house she had a prickling feeling he hadn't been talking about her father.

_**AN: I know it's a slow beginning; I'm kind of wary of where to take this one. Actually, if anyone has any requests/ideas/demands, let me know! Reviews are met with gratitude. =)**_


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